


This Might Be Valhalla

by Galena



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Catching Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galena/pseuds/Galena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am profoundly bad at flirting,” Magnus fretted.</p><p>Whirl's optic dilated. He leaned closer. “Wow! I was expecting an out-right 'no'."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Utterly self-indulgent fluff, but it's the only thing I've been consistently picking at for months so I may as well share it.
> 
> Welcome to my corner of rare-pair Hell.

Ultra Magnus did not dislike parties.

He found them uncomfortable because it was stressful to navigate the interacting and often contradictory social and military protocols they presented, and he found them awkward because he was large and possessed of many jutting components, but he didn't _dislike_ them. He would just rather stand in a corner where he was least in the way and where he could watch other people enjoy themselves.

Other people seemed to think this meant he did not enjoy himself but if left to his own preferred method of party-going Magnus could be quite content.

Unfortunately, his superiors had decreed that he was required to attend this party as not only a representative of Cybertron's military police force but as _Ultra Magnus_ , historical figure and a hero of the _Lost Light_ expedition. This meant he must interact with others and could not stand against a wall and enjoy himself.

Thus, Magnus spent several hours navigating a fancy hall full of people with unknown agendas, schemes, and ambitions, delicate infrastructure for serving food and drink, and innumerable conversations fraught with double-speak, flattery, innuendo, and outright falsehoods, until he was completely miserable.

He had resolved to excuse himself at the next opportunity when a too-tight grip landed on his shoulder and a familiar voice rasped behind his audial:

“ _God_ this party is terrible. How'd they get you here? Threaten to dangle a participle?”

Magnus turned, taken by surprise. He knew that voice and it did not belong in this setting. It belonged to Whirl, and the _Lost Light_ , and another time entirely.

“It is a part of my duty as an officer of the military police to-” Magnus began.

But Whirl leaned forward, single optic dilating, clumsy claws grabbing Magnus by the shoulders in an unexpected, unwanted display of camaraderie.

“Oh wow, they told you it was a duty? Big M,” he said and stood back again, holding Magnus at arms length now, “let me tell you something: there's only two kinds of people who attend these things. Idiots who think this scrap matters, and people too stupid to get out of being invited.”

Magnus frowned. “What does that make you?”

Whirl made a grating whimper and his shoulders slumped. “Too stupid to figure a way out before they signed my name to the invite. Hi.”

“Hi,” said Magnus, suddenly confused. He hadn't seen Whirl in nearly a decade. They had returned together with the _Lost Light_ but while Magnus took on peace-time duties as befit his military standing, Whirl had simply disappeared into the population with nary a ripple.

“What've you been up to? Since the great homecoming.” Whirl dipped his head, long silver tongue flicking into a glass nabbed from a passing server. He settled himself back against one of the tall 'conversation pedestals' (as the small, circular standing tables had been branded for this event) one rotor-clad forearm draped over the whole thing, effectively limiting occupancy to two.

Magnus hesitated, then angled himself toward the helicopter, closing off the possibility of someone joining their chat from the other side.

“I... joined the military police,” he began, half expecting Whirl to interrupt him, but Whirl just nodded and lapped at his drink. “I am in charge of internal discipline and investigations into allegations of corruption and power misuse by military personnel.”

“So you're a popular guy then.”

Magnus recognized the amused burr in Whirl's voice and knew he was being sarcastic. It was, he mused, nice to know these small personal quirks and understand that he was being teased. It was a relief after a night spent trying to parse the eccentricities of strangers.

“As you might imagine. What're you-?”

Whirl ignored the half-question and looked him up and down. “You still Minimus in there? Not a different Ultra Magnus?”

“Yes. I am still Minimus Ambus inside the armour.”

“Not that it matters. To everyone who doesn't know. Right?” Whirl's optic dimmed in contemplation. “Well, naw, it matters. You. Matter.”

Magnus cocked his head at that. Whirl thinking out loud and contradicting himself was nothing new, but Whirl thinking about other people as individuals- individuals with value, if Magnus were feeling optimistic- that was new.

“Every person who has worn the Magnus armour brought something unique to the figure of Ultra Magnus,” he said, watching Whirl's reaction.

“Then Tyrest gave it to _you_ and you went and made it _hot_.”

Magnus blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Yeah. It's the Minimus touch. I worked with like two? Or three? I dunno. Other versions of Magnus and he was always a badaft but he wasn't...” Whirl made a sweeping gesture at him, heels to helm, and shimmied his hips towards Magnus. “Makes me wanna do something arrest-worthy. Get some of that fair but forceful handling.”

Magnus realized he was blushing and frowned. “Well, I...”

“Inappropriate? Or too forward?” Whirl's optic contracted.

“Both.” Just when Magnus was finding relief in Whirl (of all people) as a known quantity, he _would_ go and say something aberrant. Magnus reset his vocalizer with a static pop. “Er. What- what brings you to this event? This is a military and diplomatic function.”

Whirl shrugged. “I'm attached to the medical corps.” He glanced up. “Not even remotely under your jurisdiction, by the way, and thus totally allowed to flirt with you without incurring a fraternization review.”

“Flirt with me?” Magnus repeated.

“You're the only person here that I know and _arguing_ with you always ended with me getting a lecture or a spell in the brig so I thought I'd try something new. Y'know, changing times, growing as people. That sort of stuff. Interested?”

Magnus levelled a measuring gaze on Whirl's body language. He appeared sincere. Whirl liked to think he was inscrutable but Magnus had dealt with Whirl for years.

Whirl's body language said he didn't want to argue. He wanted to flirt.

“I am profoundly bad at flirting,” Magnus fretted.

Whirl's optic dilated. He leaned closer. “Wow! I was expecting an out-right 'no'. I guess we've all been growing as people.”

Magnus hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “What's the point of flirting? Between us. In this context. What is the goal?”

Whirl raised one hand and counted on his claws. “Alleviating boredom, limiting involvement with insipid conversation-” he switched hands, “- _fun,_ and I was going to offer to buy you a drink but then I remembered that time on Hedonia and you probably don't want me giving you anything.” He paused, studying his hands, then looked up at Magnus again. “I can't believe you trusted me.” His optic curved. “When you drank that without doubting my intentions, you know? I even _almost_ felt a little bad about doing it, afterwards.”

Magnus grimaced at the memory. “Let's not talk about that.”

“Anyway, the goal here is to not get bored or kicked out,” Whirl continued. “So do you want to flirt? Or we could cover each other while we sneak out of here and go our separate ways. We could do that too.”

Magnus shifted his weight, leaning in to Whirl's space just a fraction. “I'll order something to eat, and you will pay for it.” He watched Whirl's optic flicker a little wider.

“Yeah. I'm into that.”

He ordered a plate that they could share. Hedonia was a long time ago and Magnus didn't hold a grudge but he knew how much they both could eat so in the end what he chose was big and pricey. Whirl didn't appear to mind. They leaned on their 'conversation pedestal', ate, and talked.

Magnus learned that Whirl was part of a Special Missions Unit within the medical corps: a rapid deployment search and rescue squad whose primary function was extracting injured parties from hazardous situations. Whirl was armed air support but he was also sporting a small black medic's cross on his left shoulder.

Magnus found his curiosity piqued by that little cross. Whirl possessed the necessary skills in theory but a decade ago Magnus would have deemed him too unreliable to put in the field.

“How's Rodimus?” Whirl asked, after several minutes of unexpected silence.

“He is well, I think. He sent me a postcard from somewhere near the outer rim last month. All it said was 'awesome' with five exclamation points and included a photo of his hand giving a thumbs up in front of a black hole.”

Whirl synthesized a snort. “What do you want to bet he got entrapped by the gravity well and had some completely nutty adventure getting free.”

“I will not take that bet; the odds are far too skewed.”

Whirl huffed a little sigh. “I miss all that. The dumb stuff and the scary stuff and Rodimus being _Rodimus_.”

Magnus felt his eye twitch. “You could have signed on again with Rodimus, or another exploratory expedition.”

Whirl plucked a miniature kebab off the plate and gestured with it. “Naw... I needed some time to think and I couldn't get that if I went back out there. But I still miss it. If I could do that on weekends, that'd be fun.”

Magnus nodded. “I... perhaps one weekend per month.”

“Almost like a vacation.”

“Though quite a bit more dangerous and fraught with stress.”

“You're just saying that. You don't know what a vacation is actually like.”

“Yes I do, Whirl. My superiors have mandated that I take up to three weeks vacation every year and so I do.”

Whirl scoffed. “What'd you do on your last vacation?”

“I went off-planet and volunteered my time with a group studying the power structure of a primitive culture found in-”

Whirl shook his head. “Which means there was paperwork, responsibility, and someone to report to.”

“...yes.”

“Whatever greases your pistons, Big M.”

Magnus sipped his drink. “What did you do on your last vacation?”

“Sat in a heated mercury bath for three days and drank until I was broke.”

“So your last vacation was only three days long.”

Whirl twitched one shoulder up in a shrug. “Quality over quantity.” More likely Whirl's job simply didn't allow him more than three consecutive days absence. Magnus ruminated on that for a long moment.

“Next time you renegotiate your contract,” he began, “I could look over the draft before you sign it and make recommendations.”

Whirl looked up. “Tailgate's got me covered there, Big M.”

“Tailgate?”

“He's a lawyer.” Whirl's optic curved up in happiness again. “You should come visit him. You're his lawyering hero.”

“He's a _what_? I- I am?”

“Yeah! It was all your Autobot Code tutoring that inspired him in the first place.”

“I thought he hated that.”

“I dunno, maybe he did at the time but he still talks about some brilliant explanation or applied rationale that you showed him while you were teaching him and he gets all-” Whirl's optic flared and shimmered and he hooked his claws together under his chin.

Magnus felt his mouth twitch up at the corner. “...that's quite an apt impression.”

“And then he makes me listen while he blathers about how some old lesson you gave applies to some case he's working on.”

“How often do you see him?”

Whirl cocked his head. “We live together.”

Magnus' eyes widened. “Oh!” He couldn't think of anything to add that would make the revelation less surprising or his reaction more appropriate.

“And Cyclonus,” Whirl added. “I got my own hab suite and studio space upstairs, connected to their suite.” Magnus mentally translated what Whirl was telling him: he was bonded to the pair, a third who was not _conjunx_ but no less important. _Amica._

Magnus reached out and folded Whirl's claws between his hands. “I'm very happy for you.”

Whirl pulled away, avoiding his gaze. “Whoa there. We looked cool having dinner and ignoring everyone together. Don't go and do that sappy stuff now.”

Magnus snorted. “Too late. I sincerely feel happy for you. I wished to express that.” Magnus put some effort into curving the corner of his mouth up just slightly again when Whirl glanced at him. “And weren't you the one who wanted to flirt?”

 _“Ugh._ I shoulda figured your flirting would be as serious as your everything else.” Whirl leaned toward him, paused, then slipped his claws into Magnus' grip again. He looked down at the table. “Always stern and rule-bound and earnest,” he muttered. “Drove me _crazy_. Didn't know whether I wanted to blow you up or _be_ you or- well, something less lethal.” The words were hurried and a little slurred, half-mumbled _sotto voce_.

“I was not unaware of your... confusion,” Magnus replied. He looked down at their hands, trying not to stare at Whirl in an attempt to give him a sort of privacy. “Have you figured out whether you want to blow me up or not?”

Whirl laughed and withdrew his claws. “I decided on 'not'.”

“I'm relieved to hear that.”

“I'm gonna be honest, Big M.” Whirl paused. “I missed you.” He looked up and when he caught Magnus' gaze, he held it. It was one of the few times that Magnus found he could not read Whirl's body language.

“Whirl?”

“Yeah?”

“Let's have dessert.”

Whirl narrowed his optic. “If you were anyone else, I'd think that was some kind of come-on.”

“No; I want dessert.”

“Good. Me too.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I forgot to click the box last time that says this has multiple chapters.)
> 
> Warnings: violence/explosives used against civilians & military personnel, a bit of gore/loosely described body/medical horror

 

Several weeks after the party, Magnus found Whirl seated on a bench in the military police headquarters, outside the hearings office.

“Whirl,” he said.

The helicopter looked up. “Here as a witness, not as a defendant,” he said. “Hello.”

“Ah. I was wondering.” Magnus sat beside him, carefully. “A witness?”

“What's this? Ultra Magnus wants me to discuss a case with him?” Whirl gave a rough gasp of shock. “You know that's illegal, right?” he whispered, leaning closer, optic narrowing.

“I was not asking you to discuss the case.”

“Yeah, I know. What were you asking?”

Magnus hesitated. “I was attempting to ask a leading question that might prompt an amount of small talk.”

“Usually 'how're you doing?' works for me,” Whirl informed him. Magnus sighed. “Are we still flirting? Or are you bad at small talk too?”

“Guess,” Magnus replied.

“Both?”

“How _are_ you doing, Whirl?”

Whirl shrugged. “Preparing to give evidence against someone I've worked with for five years that's gonna send him to prison. So you know. Normal day.”

“Yes, I know. It's an emotionally complex decision.”

Whirl glanced up. “Yeah, I guess you actually _do_ know.” He snapped his claws. “Are you busy tonight?”

“At what time?”

“End of this shift?”

“I have nothing pressing scheduled.” Magnus hesitated. He had small personal things to attend to but...

“You wanna go for dinner?”

“...yes.”

They had dinner and dessert. And several glasses of something pleasant and not too strong. Whirl talked around the case he had become involved with and though Magnus guessed the names and crimes of those involved he did not mention it to Whirl. Magnus talked about why there was an internal investigations unit in the military police and why such investigations were important in the larger scheme of society. He told Whirl about his own feelings when he was involved in a case, without naming names.

Whirl mentioned the Wreckers once and Magnus then understood why Whirl had come forward to his superiors with what he knew.

They stood on the street outside the restaurant for most of an hour, repeatedly bidding each other farewell and finding reasons to remain engaged in conversation. Magnus had not entertained a casual conversation of such length for some time.

Later, in his hab suite, alone, Magnus wondered how much of the evening Whirl shared with his two _amica_. For the first time in a long time, he felt a twinge of loneliness.

* * *

Two days later, Rodimus called him from a distant star system.

“I have a quandry,” said the ex-Co-Captain of the _Lost Light_.

Magnus folded his hands and prepared a stern frown. Rodimus contacted him sporadically- sometimes several times in a week, sometimes not for months- and it was almost always because he had a quandry and valued Magnus' input.

They talked for several hours. Finally, Rodimus stretched and leaned back in his chair.

“So, how's Ultra Magnus?”

“I... have a quandry as well.”

Rodimus folded his hands behind his head. “Oh? What kind?”

“The kind that you're better at unravelling. Do you recall Whirl's _fascination_ with me while aboard the _Lost Light_?”

Rodimus snorted. “Fascination. He had a _crush_ on you! Remember when Brainstorm told us he could 'weaponize that' and you told him it was already weaponized?”

“I told him not to encourage Whirl, I believe.”

“Heh. Yeah. Anyway, what about it?”

“I ran into Whirl at an interdepartmental function.”

“And? Was there shooting?”

“No.”

“He still has a crush on you?”

“I think so. He wanted to flirt with me.”

Rodimus barked a laugh. “What? I mean, your flirting is... okay, you have limited practice- and Whirl is-” Rodimus made emphatic hand gestures that meant nothing to Magnus- “-so what happened?”

“We spent the rest of the evening together. Talking. I...” Magnus put a thoughtful finger to his lips. “It was unexpectedly pleasant. He was unexpectedly... agreeable.”

“That _is_ unexpected. You sure he hasn't been replaced by some parallel universe version of himself?”

“No. He's quite certainly our universe's Whirl. He said- he made references. He asked me to dinner earlier this week and we spent hours discussing... many things.”

“Hang on, wait.” Rodimus shifted closer to the monitor. “You went on a _date_?”

Magnus made to reply and then stopped. “I... I think I did. Yes.”

Rodimus cocked his head, a grin starting at the corner of his mouth. “Well?”

“What?”

“What _happened next,_ Magnus?”

“We had dinner and we talked.” Magnus glowered at Rodimus' eager image. “And then I went home. Alone.” Magnus sighed. He could feel a blush creeping along his cheeks. “And I wished that I wasn't.”

Rodimus' optics widened to circles. He leaned into the camera. “Okay, just to be clear: was this a generalized wish that you weren't alone or a specific wish that _Whirl_ was with you?”

“It was a generalized wish; Whirl's departure prompted the desire.”

Rodimus was quiet for a few moments, optics downcast, studying his hands or something on his desk. Finally he propped his chin in one hand thoughtfully. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Contemplate the roots of my solitude-”

“No, I mean, do you want to go out with him again? Or someone else?”

“I don't think I... Our interactions have been by-products of chance meetings. I don't think I could call him and ask-”

“So are you going to wait another ten years to run into someone else you don't mind spending hours with, then?”

“...you have a point.”

“Call him and go for dinner. Dinner isn't always a date, Magnus. Sometimes it's just dinner.”

“Of course not.” Magnus experienced an abrupt sinking feeling in his spark.

“What? What are you thinking? You look like you did when Overlord punched through your chest, minus the agonizing pain.” Rodimus leaned forward again.

Magnus rubbed his helm and studied the desk. “What if he _doesn't_ want it to be a date?” he muttered, well aware that the blush had spread across the bridge of his nose by now. “What do I do then?”

“Then hooray, you have a new- old- friend.” Rodimus shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. “How come we never went on a proper date,” he pouted.

* * *

 

Magnus spent two days wrestling with the problem of how to ask, only to have it post-poned by the defendant in the court martial case for which Whirl was testifying.

Magnus had just entered the law courts building. There was a brief moment of warning- a scream, the sound of people suddenly moving- and then Magnus was slammed backward with a rush of heat and pressure and debris. He went down on one knee from the force of the blast even as his combat systems came online, instantly tracking heat sources and debris trajectories.

He stood, targeting system already closing in on the source of the blast, cleared his air intakes with a cough and rushed towards the epicentre. Pulverized stone mixed with smoke and the acrid smell of melted metal swirled around him. Voices began to sound off; identification pings flooded his sensors. Personal emergency summons spiked.

Magnus stopped twice. One bot was trapped but not seriously injured; he left her with assurances that he would return to help her. The second, closer to the source of the blast, was dead, spark chamber exposed and charred.

Then he heard gunfire and with a start he recognized Whirl's integrated cannons. Magnus broke into a run. Someone returned fire. He rounded a corner, took the next corridor in two thunderous strides.

Another weapon joined the first, and then there was a volley from another direction and yelling. Magnus slid to a halt and hunkered down behind what was left of a wall. According to the building blueprints, he was inside the hearing room but the topography had been so changed that visually Magnus couldn't so much as say if he were in or outdoors.

Gunfire to his right, short controlled bursts, and the crackle of a transmitter.

“Suspect and accomplices are pinned down against the south wall. They claim to have a second explosive device and have threatened to use it-”

Magnus swapped to ultraviolet vision and peered around his section of wall.

Two military police officers and a nurse sprawled in the clearing before him. The MPs were dead; the nurse was moving weakly. Magnus shifted his weight. Another volley of gunfire rattled off, this time from his left, aimed toward the south wall. The suspects returned fire until someone on the right began firing with a large calibre weapon.

From Magnus' left, a blue-silver blur charged onto the field, scooped up the injured nurse, and exited into the haze on the right, enemy fire stitching an angry line behind him. Three weapons now were brought to bear on the position where Whirl had disappeared, pounding what cover remained into rubble.

Magnus glimpsed five or six bots scatter in all directions as their shelter broke apart. Whirl was not one of them.

He stood up. “Drop your weapons and surrender.”

There was a pause in the firing and then the weapons turned on him. Magnus charged. The lighter pistol shots glanced off his armour. One larger calibre shot struck his shoulder but it failed to alter his stride and Magnus pounced over the debris, fists leading.

One of the criminals managed to flee; out of the corner of his eye, Magnus saw a knot of MPs jump on the escapee.

He stood back when it was over. The military police captain approached him.

“These two are relatively uninjured,” Magnus indicated. “This one requires medical attention.”

“Yessir.” The captain summoned a subordinate. “Drag him over to triage! They're setting up by the west wall. Cuff him and don't let him out of your sight.”

The officer saluted.

“Ultra Magnus,” said the captain, “your assistance is appreciated. Please see the medics about your shoulder, sir.”

Magnus went where the captain pointed. As he approached, he saw three medical personnel on the ground, bent over someone. As he got closer, he saw that it was Whirl. He froze. It was _most_ of Whirl.

“Gotta close that rupture first-”

“Steady him!”

“Get _offa me_! Get away- get _away_ from me-!”

“Primus, he _hit_ me!”

“I told you to steady him!”

“Ow! _Fragger!_ Stop it! Stopstop _stop!!_ ” Whirl's voice disintegrated into a ragged howl and Magnus flinched. How was he still conscious? All three medics jostled.

“Steady, I said!”

“He's out of his mind, I can't hold him if he-”

“Ultra Magnus, sir! Give us a hand?”

Magnus knelt and Whirl's optic suddenly focused onto him.

“Magnus-! Mag-!”

“Whirl, it's all right, they're trying to help you.”

“They're hurting me,” he rasped and began to struggle again, towards Magnus. Magnus held his gaze, leaned in, spread his hands against Whirl's ruined body, and tried not to get in the way of the medics.

“You have to hold still, Whirl. I'm sorry it hurts, but you have to let them work.”

There was a creak of metal under stress and Whirl cried out, straining under Magnus' hands.

“Mags-”

“Whirl, it's okay. They know what they're doing.”

Whirl stiffened beneath his grip, panted hard through his dorsal intakes, disturbed little puffs of dust. His heels scrabbled at the floor but he wasn't fighting them anymore. Magnus was peripherally aware that one of the medics had their hand almost elbow-deep in Whirl's chest. All he could smell was hot energon.

“That! Frikking! _Hurts-!_ ”

“It's okay. You're tough. It's all right. They're doing their best to help you, Whirl.”

“M-magnus-” Whirl's voice collapsed into static.

“I'm right here. There, that's my wrist. Hold on to me.” Whirl's claws clamped shut on his wrist, creasing the metal. Magnus glanced up to see who was minding Whirl's other arm and realized he didn't have one. He brought his gaze back to Whirl's dimming optic. “What's his status?” he asked.

“Critical. Spark chamber's breached and he's bleeding into his ventilation system,” replied one of the medics. “Cranial casing damaged and exerting pressure on the brain module.”

“That should stop the bleed,” announced the medic with his arm inside Whirl's chest. “Whirl, turn off your optic.”

“M...?”

“Still here.” Magnus clasped his other hand over Whirl's claws.

The medics worked around him. Whirl lost consciousness when they opened his helm to relieve the pressure on his brain module but the first medic assured Magnus this was expected and actually a positive sign. Magnus continued to sit with him, in case he woke and panicked, as they moved back to his chest to deal with his spark chamber.

“He's stable. We have to take him now. Ultra Magnus?”

“I'll stay here and assist further. Please alert me when he comes online again.”

* * *

Magnus assisted with collecting the dead and wounded, made his statements, filed his reports with the appropriate authorities, and transported injured bots to the hospital. He received no word on Whirl's condition for several hours.

“Ultra Magnus, sir?” It was the nurse that Whirl had retrieved from the midst of the gunfight, patched up and helping arrange medical leads for a more gravely injured individual.

“Yes?”

He was shockingly young, with the facial markings popular among Camiens and the expression of someone who still found episodes of violence to be an exception rather than a rule in life. Magnus frowned down at him.

“Sir, they- the miltary police- they told me to let you know that they transported Whirl to the military hospital. More medics there who are experienced with the type of wounds he suffered, they said.” He reached out and shook Magnus' hand. “Whirl's worked with my unit; he's a, uh, an acquired taste but... I'd probably be dead if he hadn't grabbed me and he'd probably be dead if you hadn't ended things when you did.”

Magnus' felt a kink in his scapular cabling release. Whirl would be looked after. The young nurse still had a hold on his hand. “Whirl is tough. He is in good care. He will be fine,” Magnus assured him.

“Of course.” The bot smiled wanly. “Again sir, thank you.”

Magnus, with no further responsibilities to the situation, went to the military hospital.

There was a single figure standing in the waiting room outside the operating theatre: Cyclonus. A scattering of others sat in silence in chairs along the margin, but Cyclonus stood in the centre, hands folded on the pommel of his sword, the point of the naked blade resting between his feet, eyes closed. His lips moved fractionally and Magnus realized he was in prayer.

Magnus took a seat cautiously, suddenly uncertain whether he had a right to be waiting with Whirl's _amica endura_. According to the military hospital stipulations anyone concerned for a patient was allowed in the waiting area, so long as their presence caused no disturbance. In the vacillating realm of social conventions and expectations, though, Magnus was not so certain. He'd seen Whirl twice in ten years. Whatever feelings Magnus was currently developing, they were new and undocumented and carried not even a fraction of the weight that Cyclonus' official, long-term declaration did.

But no one cast a judgemental eye on him. No one seemed bothered by Cyclonus and his sword, either. Half an hour later, Tailgate appeared, carrying two cups of hot energon. He passed one to Cyclonus, then gave Magnus a tired but friendly hug (around his knee) and sat with him while Cyclonus prayed.

“Does that... do anything?” Magnus murmured to Tailgate.

“Does what-? Oh, Cyclonus? Um. It makes Cyclonus feel better.”

“I see.”

“I'm glad you were there.” Tailgate patted Magnus' arm. “And I'm glad you're here.”

Magnus relaxed incrementally. Tailgate was bonded to Whirl as well and Tailgate wanted him here.

Whirl came out of surgery two hours later, still unconscious. Despite having witnessed Whirl's condition and innumerable battlefield injuries over the years, Magnus was momentarily staggered by the sight of the helicopter veiled in a skein of medical leads, invaded by tubes, surrounded by machines doing the work of living while his body was in repair.

Tailgate crept up to the mobile medical slab and rested his hands on it.

“You can touch him, if you want,” said the lead surgeon. Tailgate put his hand on what remained of Whirl's rotor shroud.

“Oh...” he murmured. “You got so beat up.”

Cyclonus laid his hands on Tailgate's shoulders and listened while the surgeon explained Whirl's condition.

“He was metres from the explosion,” the surgeon began. “His armour is rated for high heat and shrapnel which explains why he survived at all. The blast weakened his thoracic armour here-” The surgeon traced a line from Whirl's right shoulder, down under his cockpit, “-here-” down his right side to the hip, “-and fractured his cranial armour.”

“Enough to give him a headache,” said Cyclonus with a tiny smile. Magnus saw pride in his expression; proud of his warrior friend.

“Then the roof collapsed on him. From what we've been able to ascertain, he moved to shield someone else. When the roof came down, he was still sheltering this person and attempted to keep the debris from crushing them by shouldering the weight of it. Unfortunately, the stress opened all the fractures in his armour.” The surgeon sighed. “He then used his integrated cannons to defend himself but the anatomy of his weaponry was misaligned by the fractures and-” the surgeon glanced down at Tailgate, “-he exacerbated the wounds in his chest and abdomen. He took several heavy calibre shots to the back and one to the head after that.”

Tailgate looked up. “But he's stable? He was hurt but he's stable now. Right?”

“He is stable.”

“Perhaps you might have led with that,” said Cyclonus quietly.

* * *

Magnus called Rodimus that evening from his empty hab suite but the signal failed to connect. Years of war and the loss of countless soldiers lay in his past but all Magnus could see when he shuttered his optics was Whirl, eviscerated, the blinding white of his spark pulsing frantically, half his helm a mangled wreck with the one yellow optic shorting, askew, in it's crumpled housing, as he tried to stutter Magnus' name.

Eventually, he slept.

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robots Eating Food, 3/3 chapters! HAT TRICK! I have priorities, ok.
> 
> (No warnings, just fluff.)

They woke Whirl two days later, once enough of his structure had been rebuilt to allow him some movement. Cyclonus comm'd Magnus to say that Whirl was asking after him and the asking was growing progressively more pathetic and would Magnus please stop by the hospital, for the love of Primus.

There was not much more to Whirl's helm than a new casing for the brain module and a housing for the optic when Magnus arrived.

“Little known pro for _empurata_ victims,” said the surgeon. “Not a lot up there, mostly just armour. Usually with a headshot you're picking teeth and nasal receptors out of someone's brain for an hour before you can start assessing the real damage. Not here. Nice and clean.”

“Thank you for that unnecessarily gruesome trivia.”

Whirl made a delighted noise from his slab. “Doc's full of fascinating trivia, Big M! And- and he used to be a Decepticon. Can you believe that? Decepticon. Hey, doc, did you know- did you know Magnus used to be the _Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord_?”

“Everyone knows that, Whirl.”

Magnus glanced sideways at the medic. “He's...”

“High as a kite, yeah. He's still in a substantial amount of pain; we're managing it with some potent meds.”

“Mag- Mag- Magnus?”

“Right here, Whirl.”

Magnus picked up Whirl's hand between his own. The claws trembled ceaselessly.

“M, I gotta tell you- I gotta-” Whirl paused. “Come on, don't be sad. I been worse. Remember? Remember when I got k-kicked out? Of the Wreckers? And you had to- you subdued me? This isn't worse'n that, this's just my _body._ Thing gets broken and fixed _all the time_.”

Magnus nodded, frown carving sharp lines in his chin.

“Don- don't do that. I'm fine. I mean, I'll be fine. I'm bored.” He wriggled as much as he could on the slab. “I'm really bored and I can't sleep unless they sedate me. It sucks.”

Magnus sat down in a chair provided silently by the surgeon. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“You said you had something to tell me.”

“Oh yeah! I gotta tell you-” He leaned closer, unsteadily. “You looked so good. So good going after those guys. Shots like ping! bouncing off that armour. You looked awesome! I wanted to tell you. You're awesome.”

Magnus smiled.

“Thank you, Whirl.”

Whirl squirmed. “Hey- hey! You're smiling. Ha! I knew you could smile.”

Magnus gently braced him with one hand. “Your sincerity made me smile. I realize you're under the influence of pain killer subroutines at the moment, but I appreciate your candor and your enthusiasm.”

“...you're awesome!” Whirl whispered again.

* * *

When Whirl was released two weeks later- bright and mobile, only waiting for a cosmetic audial component to arrive- Cyclonus and Tailgate insisted that Magnus join them for a celebratory meal. Magnus thought they meant a restaurant but it turned out one of Cyclonus' hobbies was cooking. Magnus found himself invited into their home.

They ate and chatted and reminisced. Whirl brought out a bottle of something much too strong for Magnus' tastes; Cyclonus countered with something more refined and palatable. Talk moved to gossip and current affairs, then to politics and philosophy. Tailgate and Whirl drank and egged on their dinner mates as the conversation grew impassioned.

The whole time, Magnus was aware of the bond within the room, threading around him, tingling against his personal electro-magnetic field. The part between Cyclonus and Tailgate was solid, complex and tightly woven; the parts between Cyclonus and Whirl, and Tailgate and Whirl, were gently antagonistic, warm and genuine.

Whirl decided to join the political argument, coming in on Magnus' side. Ten minutes later, he and Cyclonus were on their feet, bluffing and blustering with their body language, optics flashing, wings raised, pushing into each other's space.

Tailgate put his hands over his face. “Guys? Please? You're embarrassing.”

Magnus wanted to say, no, they were wonderful, the conversation was wonderful, having people to talk with casually and argue with and eat with was wonderful, but the bit of his rational mind that wasn't abuzz with liquor and good food stopped him.

“I don't mind,” was all he managed and took another sip of his drink. “I believe they're mostly showing off for us, anyway,” he murmured. Tailgate pouted.

“I'd rather they showed off nicely!”

“Do they do that?” Magnus' recollection of Whirl and Cyclonus had been exactly this- two steps from a proper row, with some incomprehensible mutual respect thrown in.

“Well, no.”

The argument settled down and they had dessert. A more rambling, laid-back discussion ensued. Whirl and Tailgate did more listening and occasional interjecting; Magnus and Cyclonus carried the bulk of the conversation between them. Tailgate clearly enjoyed the entertainment, optics wide, leaning forward to listen. Magnus glanced sideways at Whirl- he assumed if Whirl was bored, he would not hesitate to show it- but he was slouched on one elbow, optic half closed, leaning against Cyclonus' shoulder. Cyclonus had one hand resting against the back of Whirl's neck.

It was a casual gesture but that casual air made it all the more powerful to Magnus. Myriad little assumptions flickered back and forth through that simple touch: trust, affection, comfort with each other, perhaps even a bit of social posturing.

For a moment, Magnus felt like an outsider again, aware of the bond that existed around him but did not include him. He turned away. _I am envious_ , he acknowledged, and thought of Rodimus' question. Was it Whirl or was it the nebulous concept of belonging, of being part of someone's life in such a thorough way? Was it Whirl or was he just very lonely?

“Hey.” Whirl poked him in the shoulder. “It's late and you're drunk. You can stay here tonight if you don't wanna call a driver. Yeah?”

Magnus didn't know how to answer. He didn't know what he wanted- whether it was companionship from Whirl or if he was looking for a friend, any friend- so he couldn't say yes. And yet, at the same time, he wanted to stay so he wouldn't have to make the trek home, in his alt, piloted by a stranger through a city webbed with other people's relationships to his solitary hab suite and the dark communication screen where he could not always find Rodimus... and because he liked Whirl.

“Do you have space?”

Cyclonus and Tailgate looked at each other. Whirl cocked his head. “You recharge inside the armour?”

Magnus hesitated. Tailgate reached across the table and slapped Whirl's forearm lightly. “Whirl! You don't ask that sort of stuff, that's rude!”

“How's it rude? I'm just tryin' to be accommodating!” He turned to Magnus. “If you do wanna recharge in the armour, then you can use my slab and I'll go sleep with Cyclonus. If you wanna come out and be Little M, then there's room for you on my slab with me. If you want. Or there's a couch. Whichever. Whatever!”

Whirl was flustered, and struggling with it, and suddenly Magnus realized that maybe Whirl didn't know what he wanted either. Twenty years ago, Whirl had dealt with his feelings for Magnus by antagonizing him, forcing Magnus into a role that Whirl could deal with. Now, he was trying for something else, letting Magnus be whatever Magnus was, struggling along.

So what was Magnus? Other than intensely confused.

“I have an early meeting tomorrow,” said Cyclonus. He rose, settled one hand on the back of Tailgate's plating, and pulled the minibot along with him. “So does Tailgate. Good night.”

“Uh, good night Ultra Magnus! Nice seeing you again!” said Tailgate with a cheerful wave. “Cyclonus, what-?! _You don't work tomorrow!_ ” Magnus heard him hiss after the pair rounded the corner.

Whirl stared after them. “And Tailgate says _I'm_ rude.” He turned back to Magnus. “Anyway. You can have my slab. I'll go recharge with Cyclonus.” He stood up. “I'll show you.”

“No,” said Magnus finally. “I wouldn't mind- I'd like to share with you. If you don't mind.”

Whirl nodded, turning unreadable for a moment. “Okay. C'mon. You should put your armour in my studio because if you leave it where Tailgate can get at it, he'll probably be wearing it when you wake up tomorrow.”

Magnus winced. “I, ah, yes. Yes. Good idea. Your studio?”

Whirl waved him toward a closed door. “Yeah. Ha! You're going to lose your mind when you see how disorganized it is.”

Magnus frowned; he remembered Whirl's suite aboard the _Lost Light_ being spartan to the point of empty.

Whirl led him up a short flight of stairs to a long rectangular room that opened at one end onto a balcony. The doors were braced open with random objects and the room smelled like the city. It was pleasantly cool and lit with the glow of signs and streetlights and windows and aerial beacons.

The room was largely bare save for a few pieces of standard furniture, with one large, messy exception: a long work bench occupied the length of the entire wall opposite the door. It was strewn with bits of metal and tiny mechanical components, tools, empty food cubes and data pads; the surface was scratched and faded and defaced with a wild jumble of graffiti and pictograms.

Nothing else in the room appeared quite so chaotic; nor was any other part quite as lived in, enjoyed, thoroughly used and obviously loved.

“I...” he said, turning slowly to take in the whole room, attention returning again to the work bench. “I like this,” he said in surprise.

“You _do?_ ”

“It's-” Magnus paused. “I don't know what most of these items are. They don't have a _right place_ so wherever it is, that is the right place.”

Whirl nudged a heap of data pads with one claw. “It's not bugging you that nothing is lined up or put in ascending size or whatever?”

“What would you line it up against?” said Magnus in disbelief. The long bench was warped along one side, the contour subtly wavy. The roof was slanted. The balcony edge was curved. He touched the surface of the bench, then peered at tiny delicate things in an open metal canister. He cast about for a lid the right size and didn't see one.

“So what you're saying is that all this-” Whirl extended both arms and gestured, “-is so off your Magnus-compulsive-organizing meter that it's actually okay for you?”

Magnus straightened. “It doesn't bother me, no.”

“Wow.” Whirl lowered his arms. “Well, okay then. Huh. Yeah, so... that's my desk.” He then pointed to the balcony. “Exit strategy.” He waved his claw in a non-specific way. “My stuff. Recharge slab. Door.”

The slab was large enough that Magnus would have been comfortable on it with the armour on. He realized it was meant for Whirl _plus_ someone else (or two someone else's- Magnus wasn't up to parsing the intricacies of Whirl's bond, he was having enough trouble parsing whatever he and Whirl had between them) but this time the reminder didn't make him jealous.

“Drop your armour wherever.”

Magnus found a chronometer, nearly completed, held by a little clamp mounted in a delicate gyroscopic mechanism. It was not the digital sort that Whirl had manufactured compulsively aboard the _Lost Light._ This was the product of ancient schematics, wholly mechanical, incredibly complex. There was a loupe nearby and a set of tiny screw drivers, the tips of which were shiny and perfect, the handles scuffed and abraded.

“This is very...” He stopped. Whirl was sitting on the slab, watching him. “I am snooping. I apologize.”

Whirl leaned back on his elbows. “Nah. I don't mind. I don't really wanna talk about it, but you can look if you want.”

Magnus really wanted him to talk about it. He wanted Whirl to explain how these tiny, perfect machines functioned, how something so precise was born out of such chaos. He suddenly wanted to know what Whirl was like when he was alone and working on these things. Was he proud of his creations when he finished them? Did they give him joy? Magnus crouched to study the half-finished piece. How could this _not_ give him joy?

“You want one?”

Magnus looked up. “I don't know,” he said, hastily. He turned back to the chronometer in the gyroscopic cradle, the face open, inner workings exposed. “I think I'm more interested in the process.”

Whirl stood up and crossed the room to join him. He touched a knob on the cradle and turned the piece ever so slightly toward himself. “Yeah. The process is the best part.” Then he moved away, ambling toward the balcony. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I'll be back in a bit.” He took two long steps, transformed, and flew off.

Magnus watched him go, startled, and a little disappointed. After a few minutes, he went to examine the slab. There were three recharge ports and an adapter coiled up near them. So Tailgate and/or Cyclonus did sleep here sometimes. That was... he didn't know _what_ that was, honestly.

He surveyed the studio, selected an area he thought would be least in the way, and slowly shed the armour. When he was free of it he climbed onto the slab and plugged in.

* * *

 

Hours later, he woke, jostled out of recharge by the pervasive feeling of _unfamiliarity._ He was still alone on the slab but there was a dim glow from Whirl's work bench and the soft clicks and creaks of armour plating against metal.

Magnus sat up.

“Whirl?”

“Hey.” He was seated on a stool at the bench, leaning over the loupe and the unfinished chronometer. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't wake me,” Magnus replied. “I'm not used to... I don't spend the night on someone else's slab very often.”

“You looked comfortable.”

Magnus hesitated a brief moment. “Come and join me?”

Whirl looked up. “If you don't mind me not sleeping. Insomnia. Figured I'd use it, finish this up.”

“I don't mind.” Magnus moved over. “I don't work tomorrow. Would you... would you like to talk about it?”

Whirl made a little rustle of laughter and settled beside him on the slab, flat on his back. “Ah. No. Not because I don't think it's a problem or whatever, it's just nothing new, Little M.” He turned his head. “You're new.”

Magnus touched his arm, uncertain. “Hardly. You've seen me like this before.” When Whirl didn't resist or withdraw, he stroked the plating with his fingertips, EM fields touching, then meshing tentatively. “If I recall, I caught you wearing the Magnus Armour fauld and plackart once.”

Whirl laughed. “They're the only pieces that would fit me! I wanted to wear the boots but they aren't made for my legs.” He reached across himself and touched Magnus' chest. “And that's not what I meant. I meant having you here is new.”

“It's new for me too. Being here.”

Whirl slipped his arm around Magnus and pulled the smaller bot against his side. Magnus shifted until he was tucked into the little valley between Whirl's arm and body, head pillowed on Whirl's shoulder assembly, and felt the helicopter relax against him.

Magnus could feel himself settling back into recharge. “I like this,” he murmured into the unfamiliar darkness.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Rodimus leaned toward the display screen, distance pixellating his image as he approached the camera. “Tell me _everything.”_

“That is everything.”

“ _Every_ thing?”

“I slept. I think he slept too but not very much.” Magnus shifted, glancing down. It had not been awkward then, with Whirl. It seemed awkward now though. “We had breakfast the next morning and I went home.”

Rodimus flopped back in his chair. “Seriously?” he said. “You went home with him, you spent the night, you slept together and... _that's it_? Whatever you guys did, Magnus trust me, I can handle hearing it.”

Magnus frowned. “We didn't do anything, Rodimus.”

“Remember that time you had to carry his drunk aft out of Swerve's because he violated two out of three rules? And instead of struggling and yelling he cuddles up to you and starts making _suggestions_?”

Magnus glowered. “Rodimus...”

“All right, all right, it's none of my business.” He tried to hide his pout inside a thoughtful frown. “So it is _him_ that you like, eh?”

Magnus studied his hands and thought about Whirl's whispered propositions made years ago. “It's him.”

“So what's wrong?”

“I wonder if it's too late,” he blurted. “He's... different now. The same person, but different. What if he's looking for a friend now?”

“A friend? To cuddle with? On a scale of one to ten, with one being Megatron and ten being Tailgate, how _cuddly_ is Whirl on his average day?”

“...I would estimate two-point-four.”

“Yeah. And he cuddled up with you and didn't do anything else- or try to do anything else.”

“Exactly-”

“No. Look Mags- he's willing to cuddle with you, to let you _touch_ him. He wouldn't let someone do that if he didn't like them. You know who Whirl is. Maybe he's a little different now but think about it- ten years doesn't erase millions of years of- of war and being a Wrecker and being _Whirl._ Think about it. Two-point-four, Magnus. And he let you spend the night with him.”

Magnus thought about it. He remembered Cyclonus' hand on the back of Whirl's neck, and Whirl, injured, fighting the medics’ touch as they tried to aid him. He raised his optics and gave Rodimus a rare smile.

“You knew your crew better than anyone credited you for.”

Rodimus shrugged and glanced sideways. “Yeah. Well.”

“And I suppose you're right.”

“Suppose?” Rodimus snorted, arms folded across the glittering flames on his chest plate.

“All right: you're _right_ , Rodimus.”

“That's what I like to hear! So, now what?”

“I should have a personal conversation with Whirl.”

“Yes. Go do that as soon as possible.”

* * *

'As soon as possible' was somewhat delayed by a spat of violence between a unit of Cybertronian soldiers and a squad of Galactic Council peacekeepers. Magnus was confined to his office for three days by a constant stream of subordinates making reports, superiors requesting reports, correspondents updating information, and Magnus explaining a variety of laws in detail to all involved.

“It's a delicate situation,” said Fortress Maximus, his voice and image grainy with distance. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sort of exhaustion that Magnus recognized. “And with the troops in question being former Autobots...”

“Yes?” Magnus had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“I would appreciate your direct assistance with this investigation, Magnus. You can use Luna 1 as your headquarters. The Galactic Council still has a neutral opinion of Tyrest's legacy. Myself, though, they don't know me well and I feel their wariness could slow or stall the investigation. Having you involved would make things operate much more smoothly on both sides.”

Magnus nodded. “I would be happy to assist you, Maximus. Contact my superiors to finalize the mission details.”

Max showed his teeth a little when he smiled. “This is the first easy conversation I've had in days. Thank you, Magnus.”

Magnus sat back, contemplating the now-dark monitor. Then he punched in Whirl's personal comm frequency before anyone else could demand his attention.

“Do you know what kind of anxiety it gives me to see 'internal affairs' pop up as the contact identification?” said Whirl by way of greeting.

“Why? Have you done something that should be investigated?”

“There was a box of energon goodies in the mess hall with no name on it last week, so I ate them all.”

“Investigating that would constitute a waste of resources. Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”

“What if the same thing happened four time- hold up! Did you just ask me out?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Is... 'okay' a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I'm going to ignore your confession of serial confectionery theft.”

“Your gestures of affection are overwhelming.”

* * *

“All right,” said Magnus, once they had found a cozy corner booth, ordered food, and eaten, “how will this work?”

Whirl cocked his head. “Gonna need to be more specific, Big M.”

“Us. Dating. Seeing each other? I would like to do this more often but I'm unsure what sort of expectations you have.”

Whirl shrugged and sprawled back in his seat. “Not ever really _dated_ before. I think we've got the going-for-supper part nailed down but as for the rest, it's unexplored territory.”

“But you have two _amicae._ ”

“Sure. But I met and got to know them through non-dating circumstances. We were all on the same ship, forced to endure each other's charming quirks for months on end.” Whirl shifted, met Magnus' gaze. “You and I are choosing this.” He tilted his helm. “What do _you_ want from this? I'm still kinda surprised you wanna hang out.”

“I... I don't know,” said Magnus. “There are so many variations on casual relationships, depending on the people involved. For instance, some people date in order to find a life partner. Others date because they enjoy meeting new people as a hobby.”

Whirl inspected his claws. “Or because they don't like to be alone.”

Magnus straightened the dishes that remained, as-yet uncollected by the server, on their table. “There are also expectations of _progression_. If the person you're dating is satisfactory, then there is the expectation that you may then progress to spending the majority of your social time with them. There is the expectation of progression to physical intimacy, and within that another sequence of progression from limited physical contact to sexually penetrative interface. There is also the expected progression to shared accommodation, and shared financial information-”

Whirl held up a claw. “Yeah, yeah. Slow down. You keep saying _expected_. Who's expecting this? Are you expecting all of this?”

Magnus folded his hands on the tabletop. “I don't know what I expect. I don't know what to _try_ with you _._ These are expectations according to prevailing social norms.”

“And we're both _so very_ normal.” Whirl leaned forward, settled his elbows on the table, and studied Magnus. “I don't give a toss what society expects of me, or of you. Tell me what _you_ want and I'll tell you what I want. And then we... talk about it.”

Magnus nodded once. “All right.” He thought for a moment, and Whirl waited. He could stall, push the question back to Whirl, ask him what he wanted. But that wouldn't help Magnus and he suspected Whirl had more clear ideas on the subject than he did. The fact that Whirl was waiting for Magnus, not pressing, not suggesting, intrigued him.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Magnus said at last.

“Fire away.”

“Are you still in therapy?”

Whirl synthesized a snort. “Does it show? Rung's drilled me with the importance of communication.”

“It shows. I like it.”

Whirl preened briefly, field buzzing with pride. “So, let's have an awkward conversation about expectations, then. Rung would say it's not awkward but I think we both know it's gonna be.”

Magnus nodded and looked at his hands. “Acknowledged. Very well.” He reset his vocalizer. “Let's start with shared social time. I don't budget social time into my schedule. There are gaps which I _may_ use for social activities. I could declare some of these gaps specific to spending time with you.”

“Share your calendar with me. I've got a hunch you probably have more meetings and stuff to work around than I do.” Whirl picked up the electric lantern decorating their table and peered inside it. “But maybe not all of our contact needs to be on a schedule. A little spontaneity, now and then?”

“...I can try.”

“Cool. What else?”

“Physical intimacy.”

Whirl put down the lantern and scooted forward in his seat, leaning towards Magnus until his guns scraped against the table and stopped his approach. “Okay. My turn for a personal question. Yeah? All right. Cuz I've been wondering about this since finding out about the Magnus Amour.” He narrowed his optic. “Is it 100% anatomically correct? You got all the fun bits in there?”

Whirl was hardly the first person to wonder. “Yes,” said Magnus. “The armour was designed to be indistinguishable from a genuine Cybertronian body.”

Whirl sat back. “That just begs so many more questions.”

“Questions which I will be happy to answer later, in _private_.”

“I can't tell when it's innuendo or not with you.”

Magnus shook his head. “That was not. Or perhaps it was unintentional.” He paused. “I do find you desirable. In case you were wondering.”

Whirl's optic glowed. “Is that uncommon for you? Because it is for me. I've met maybe six people I actually wanna frag.”

“No, I've found myself sexually attracted to a wide variety of people. However, being in a command position for many years did not permit me the opportunity to act on attraction or form relationships beyond those of affectionate colleagues.”

“Well that sucks.” Then he cocked his head, optic narrowing again. “I always thought you and Co-Captain Rodders had a thing.”

“We did,” he said slowly. “We _do_ . It's... not like your _amicae_.” He thought about Rodimus' irresistible wanderlust, his disinclination to be cautious, his need for an audience, and searched Whirl's body language for a reaction. “You're very perceptive.”

Whirl shrugged. “No one thinks I care so nobody bothers to hide their drama around me. I mean, _mostly_ I don't care. But it's fun to watch because it's unpredictable.”

“It certainly is. I find it quite stressful sometimes, however.”

“Because you're invested in people's happiness.”

“Are you not?”

“Naw. I just wanna see what happens before I get bored.”

“Ah,” said Magnus.

Whirl tensed. “I didn't mean that about you and me, Magnus.”

They stared at each other.

“I don't just wanna see what happens,” Whirl said quickly. “I mean, I _do_ but not like that, not in that uninvested way. I'm- I'm _invested._ ” His optic widened. “Scrap. Scrap, I'm fragging this up.”

Magnus reached across the table and laid his hands over Whirl's claws. “Not really. I don't know what I want either.” Magnus leaned forward, tugged his claws until their helms were touching and spoke in a murmur. “But I like you.”

Whirl relaxed against Magnus. “I thought you were bored maybe or... humouring me.”

“I would never!”

“I know you wouldn't.” Whirl pulled away slightly. “The bad part of my brain says that stuff. I know it's wrong but it's insistent some days. I didn't mean that about us,” he repeated. “I wasn't thinking about what I was saying. Look, I dunno what I want either, Mags, but I know I wanna... make it... _good_.”

“So do I.”

There was a lasting moment of warmth, Whirl's EM field readily weaving into his, and then someone comm'd him.

“Damn. I have to answer this.”

They parted. Whirl lounged in his seat, watching Magnus while he spoke to his superior officer, and Magnus realized only half of his attention was focused on the report of further violence, arrests, and threats of open hostility. The rest of his attention was fixed on Whirl.

“I'm sorry,” he said at last. “They're calling me back into the office.”

They stood.

“Whoever is doing bad stuff and interrupting our date better hope I never meet them,” said Whirl.

“If they keep doing bad stuff, I might just let them.”

* * *

A week passed.

Magnus shared his calendar with Whirl. They comm’d each other twice simply to chat. Whirl left for three days on a mission two jumps away from Cybertron and came back missing a stabilizer.

“No big deal,” said Whirl with a shrug. “Getting it fixed tomorrow morning.”

“I’m glad to hear. I have a favour to ask.”

“Is it ‘break into my office, lay siege to the fortress of reports that keeps me imprisoned, and abscond with me in an unparalleled show of daring and skill’?”

“Somewhat. Although no siege will be necessary. I have a skills exam tomorrow afternoon,” Magnus straightened his back and faced the video monitor. Half his brain was still replaying the memory of Whirl's field mingling with his. “Would you be my partner for it?”

Whirl, helm resting on his rotor shroud, cocked his head at the screen of his comm suite. “Tomorrow afternoon? Look at you, being spontaneous. What kind of exam is this?”

“It's a practical assessment of my field skills, as a martial asset.”

“Oh! It's the fake battlefield with the paint and the flimsy sets. Yeah, that's fun.”

“...yes.”

“Why do you need a partner? You're...” Whirl's antenna perked forward. “...you know, huge and awesome.”

Magnus hid a smile. “Part of the assessment is cooperation based. I must bring a partner who is not a regular member of my team to demonstrate my cooperative performance.”

Whirl tapped one claw against his cephalic sensor prongs in thought. “Kind of seems like cheating if you bring me. We've worked together before. What colour are they using?”

“Purple.”

Whirl's optic dilated. “Purple looks good on me. Sure, I'll do it.”

“...would you like to have dinner at my apartment afterwards?”

Whirl inclined his helm, antenna ticking forward. “On one condition.”

“If you wished to indicate conditional acceptance, you should have stipulated exceptions prior to your agreement.” Damn the bytes upon bytes of legal documents he'd been digesting for the past days.

Whirl narrowed his optic. “In amendment to my acceptance, I will require _thorough_ exterior maintenance subsequent to my participation in the skills examination. Such maintenance to be carried out by one Ultra Magnus.”

“Said maintenance will be carried out mutually.”

“ _Mutually._ ” Whirl was practically purring. Magnus glanced up from the monitor to be sure no one was eavesdropping outside his office. “Usually the point of these things is _not_ to get shot but the more paint you gotta scrub off my plating, the more fun it'll be.”

“I still have to pass the exam, Whirl.”

“Pass?” Whirl rolled his shoulders. “We're gonna get you the exemplary grade you deserve, Big M.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Distracting myself during midnight MTMTE release day vigil. D:
> 
> Warnings: semi(?)-explicit tactile sexuality, implied oral sex, non-awkward sexual dysfunction

Whirl looked down at the splatter of purple paint across his abdomen and down his legs. “I changed my mind. This colour has too much grey in it. Be nicer if it was more vibrant.”

Both of them were decorated with splashes of paint as a by-product of the staged combat examination. (Magnus had received honours for his cooperative skills; Whirl earned a nod of recognition from the examiner for his supporting role). Magnus itched to wash his plating immediately afterward but one look at the public wash bay in the examination centre and he had taken Whirl by the arm and steered him to the exit.

“There were complaints in previous years about the difficulty of removing more saturated tones,” Magnus replied, “particularly on pale paint jobs.”

“Sure, if you take hours to finish the course and let the paint dry on you.” Whirl snorted. “They could use fluorescent orange on _us_ and it wouldn't matter. We kicked ass!”

“ _We_ are professionals. Some non-combat units use this as a team-building exercise for their personnel.”

They had stopped to pick up take-out supper and headed for the housing tower where Magnus lived. Whirl craned his head back as they arrived and gave a toneless whistle.

Magnus had refused the penthouse, though it would have been appropriate for him to accept it according to his rank. He did require a larger than average living space, however, and when the housing coordinator had offered him half a floor in this new tower, he had agreed.

They rode the elevator up.

“It's like an art gallery,” said Whirl, when they entered the suite. He froze just inside the threshold, claws clasping each other, and peered around.

“I like to appreciate things one at a time,” said Magnus. “Wipe your feet.” Whirl did, then stalked across the room toward a framed document, claws clasped resolutely behind his back.

“Deed to the _Lost Light_ ,” Whirl mused. “How'd you get this? I thought the ship belonged to Rodimus.”

“It did,” said Magnus. He set their take-out supper on the counter between living space and kitchen. “Rodimus was going to put the deed in the recycler after the ship… you know. I think it makes a nice souvenir.”

“Huh,” said Whirl. He moved along the wall to the next item.

“The wash rack is this way.”

This was a luxury that Magnus wouldn’t compromise on: he liked to be clean. Most of the time this meant cleaning the Magnus armour while he was wearing it but in his home he could take the time to remove it entirely, spread out the pieces, and care for each one separately. The wash rack accommodated both scenarios.

It also accommodated two bots with space-filling frames who didn’t mind being in close proximity to each other.

“You’ll need to siddown,” said Whirl immediately.

Magnus hesitated.

“So I can reach your shoulders and stuff.”

“Oh! Yes.”

Yes, he had agreed to this mutual grooming, hadn’t he. Magnus moved to the bench that ran down the centre of the bay and sat, slowly. Even when Magnus had a partner available to help with his maintenance, he typically declined. He simply knew his armour better and knew his own standards better than anyone else. It had been ages since he let anyone else help, much less take on the entire process themselves.

Whirl hesitated. “If you wanna do it yourself, that’s fine. I get it. You’re _particular_ about cleaning.”

Magnus looked up and caught Whirl trying to disguise disappointment. “No. I would like you to do it,” he said firmly. In the worst case scenario, he could stop Whirl and finish the cleaning himself. Whirl hesitated for another moment but took his words at face value.

“Do you got a specific routine or anything?”

“Yes. But… since you are not me, you need not follow it.”

“All right.” Magnus watched him collect supplies and struggled to read his body language. Finally he approached and stood in front of Magnus. “Lesser bots ever get performance anxiety looking at you?”

“Yes. Are you…?”

Whirl chuckled. “Naw. _I’m_ excited.”

Perhaps Magnus might have anticipated how an artisan’s critical eye and capable hands- claws- could be turned to this job but he hadn’t. When Whirl touched him, his motions were practised, the pressure of his touch just firm enough to be effective, just lingering enough to be familiar. It wasn’t exactly the routine that Magnus would have followed but… As Whirl worked over and around him, muttering to Magnus and himself, giving Magnus little compliments, leaning against him, nudging him, Magnus started to remember that letting someone else wash him was about more than getting clean. It felt _good_.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“My pleasure, Big M.” Whirl’s EM field pushed against Magnus’ with a pleasing friction but he refused to let them mingle completely and that made Magnus pursue the subtle swells of energy that passed between them on contact with a need that surprised himself.

Finally, Whirl came around to his front to observe his handiwork, one claw on his hips, the other crooked beneath his chin.

“Whattaya think? Feel clean?”

Magnus smiled. “Yes. I do.” He got to his feet, inspecting himself as much as he could. “You _are_ good at this.”

Whirl straightened up, stabilizers flared with pride. “I got a lot of practise.” He hesitated. “It’s… something I can do, you know? Something intimate, something nice.” He looked like he was thinking about saying more, but then he dropped his gaze and focused on folding up a towel.

Magnus touched his elbow. “Whirl. I feel privileged to be given this treatment.” If it had been someone else, Magnus would have leaned down and kissed him, but he wasn’t sure how Whirl felt about kissing, so instead he gave his elbow a little squeeze.

“You're supposed to be returning the favour,” Whirl reminded him.

“Absolutely.”

To Magnus’ surprise, Whirl transformed to his alt mode.

“Is there anywhere that you don’t want me to touch you?”

“Naw. Not like this.”

Magnus wet several soft towels and folded them. He started at Whirl's rear stabilizers, spraying an area with chemical wash, wiping it with a damp towel, and then drying it thoroughly with a dry towel. He worked his way forward over Whirl's flanks and roof, out onto both rotor assemblies, then forward down each side of his canopy, avoiding the cockpit glass for the time being.

Whirl said nothing, only sat quietly and let him work. Magnus knelt and then went down flat on his back to clean the underside of him, scooting along in increments as he washed and dried. The wash bay floor was a textured rubber mat; Magnus was not worried about marring his own finish.

Finally, when he had cleaned Whirl from the tips of his stabilizers to the barrels of his guns, he rolled to his knees and made to stand up.

“Wait just a sec.” Whirl transformed; clean and shiny except for the splash of purple on his abdomen. The area was internalized in his alt mode. “You missed a spot.”

Magnus refolded one of the damp towels.

“Is there anywhere that you don't want me to touch you in your root mode?”

“I don’t really like people touching my head with their hands. It’s a thing.” His optic shuttered to a slit. “Feel free to fully explore everything else.”

Magnus couldn’t help his smile. He settled one hand on Whirl's hip, conscious of where his large fingers fell against his aft and the small of his back while he cleaned the paint off Whirl's belly. Whirl observed him intently, head craned to the side to watch around his cockpit. This close, without the unbroken wall of combat armour provided by his alt, Whirl was noticeably warm and making a subsonic hum that Magnus felt more than heard. It was compelling and pleasant.

He dabbed the last of the chemical wash away with a dry towel and paused. Magnus had viewed this particular section of Whirl's armour with some derision originally, ever since the helicopter had opted for it post-Wreckers. There seemed to be scant little impact resistance in something so flexible and there were some vital areas of Whirl covered in it. But it had held up to Legislators, Ammonites, the DJD, and random acts of stupidity, so Magnus revised his previous opinion.

“Are you just going to stare?”

Magnus looked up. Heat seeped from between the smooth overlapping gaps in Whirl's abdominal armour. Magnus raised a hand, fingers hovering, craving greater contact. Prolonged contact, meaningful contact, something more than obligatory touches during maintenance.

“May I...?”

Whirl nodded, optic dilating.

Magnus curved his hand against Whirl’s waist, leaned forward, pressed his nose and then his lips to Whirl's belly. That subsonic hum surged at his touch. The metal was warm, his EM field familiar and inviting. Against his mouth and chin, Magnus could feel the deep rhythm of Whirl's spark pulse, a minute, undeniable beat conducted through his entire frame, the heat and life of another person flush against him. He closed his optics for a moment and rested against Whirl, immersing himself in the sense of touch.

Whirl’s claws nestled against the back of his neck. “Feels nice,” he murmured.

Magnus didn’t want to move, didn’t want to withdraw from the peace and relief he found in shared closeness. He wanted more, though. Whirl’s field was still too distant, separate from his own. He remembered the contentment of lying cradled against Whirl’s side, wrapped up in their mingled EM fields and he wanted that feeling again.

Softly at first, Magnus kissed up his belly. When Whirl began to lean into him, the kisses became open-mouthed, less careful. After a moment he slung both arms loosely around Whirl’s hips, pulling him closer. Whirl curled against him, cockpit colliding gently with Magnus’ helm pillars. That was good, that feeling of being surrounded. He wanted more of that and rumbled a note of approval.

Whirl murmured his name and Magnus’ plating flushed with sudden heat. Their EM fields touched, meshed at last, tangled around Magnus and he sighed against Whirl's armour, enveloped by warmth and closeness. Whirl’s claws kneaded across the breadth of his shoulders.

“How about here?” He touched the side of Whirl’s cockpit.

“Yes.”

Magnus shifted up and his  mouth followed his fingers. The little surge of energy in their fields that came with every physical contact tingled constantly across his lips now and still, maddeningly, wasn’t quite _enough_ to be wrapped in just _energy_. He traced the seam between metal and glass all the way to Whirl’s Autobrand, gently pulled him downwards with one hand on his cannons, and looked up.

Whirl met his gaze and his EM field bloomed with a tangle of affection and desire and trepidation.

“I won’t go any higher,” said Magnus softly, “Should I go the other way instead?”

Whirl made a small sound. “Scrap yes, you should.”

Magnus curled his fingers around the back of Whirl’s thighs and lifted him up, kissing down his abdomen until Magnus’ lips bumped against his codpiece.

Whirl’s fans clicked on. The helicopter tried to cling onto him, knees tightening awkwardly against the sides of Magnus' chest, claws scrabbling for purchase across his shoulders.

“Just like that? Like I don’t weigh-” Whirl made a staticky gasp. “-don’t weigh anything-” he panted.

“Just like that.”

Magnus pushed him up and seated Whirl on the prow of his thoracic armour.

“I did not- did _not_ expect this-”

“Is this okay?”

“Yes! Yes!”

Magnus wedged his face between Whirl’s thighs, mouthing the exposed edge of the femoral pitch joint, examining the distinct flavour of someone else’s alloy. Whirl’s fans picked up. He spread his knees and tried to lean back a little. Magnus felt him unbalance, grabbed his aft and held on, encouraging the helicopter to close his thighs against Magnus’ helm while his lips and tongue explored his pelvic assembly.

Whirl rasped something that might have been part of a prayer.

“Are you okay?” Magnus murmured and turned to place a kiss on the inside of Whirl's straining thigh.

“F-frag! Yes! You’re- wow,” he gasped and reset his vocalizer. “Can _not_ believe you-” Whirl pitched forward, scrabbling for a hold. Magnus growled in reply, shifted him again, tilting his hips so that he could work his tongue under Whirl's long codpiece. “Oh god!”

“Put your legs over my shoulders.”

“Seems like we might tip-”

“Trust me, Whirl.” Suddenly he wanted nothing more than Whirl’s long silver legs wrapped around his shoulders while the helicopter rode his mouth.

“Scrap, Magnus!” Whirl’s voice shuddered. “You've done this before? Oh wow. Lucky, lucky mystery bot, thank you for your pioneering-”

“Are you nervous?” Magnus pulled back for a moment, anxiety briefly overriding his fervor.

“Nervous?” There was no amount of contortion that would let them make eye contact but Whirl’s wriggling was just as informative. “No! Pit no, I'm- okay, _yes,_ but I definitely definitely _definitely_ want you to continue.”

“Okay,” Magnus nodded against his pelvic assembly and repositioned Whirl. “It helps if you grip higher on my shoulder cannons.”

Magnus felt his grip tighten on the cannons and groaned into Whirl's warmth. Yes, _this_ was what he wanted: to be locked in Whirl’s embrace, immersed in the smell and taste of him, every sense dominated by the presence of another person.

He thrust nose and mouth against the length of Whirl’s codpiece and that rewarded Magnus with the long tab of armour transforming aside, baring Whirl’s interface array. Whirl emphatically rocked his hips forward.

But Magnus nibbled along the inside of one thigh, then the other, kissed and nuzzled into his femoral joints, and ignored Whirl’s array for five long minutes as the charge between them grew and grew and grew.

“Mags,” Whirl finally panted above him, whole body trembling. “You can’t- you gotta stop teasing- please-” He was relying entirely on Magnus to keep him balanced now, twisting and wriggling in vain, struggling against Magnus’ strength, kicking weakly against his back. “This is _torture!_ I thought you liked me-!”

Magnus obediently turned his attention to Whirl’s valve and his voice shot up an octave before it shattered.

Thirty seconds later, Magnus acquired two things: paint-peeling scratches across his freshly washed back plating, and the knowledge that Whirl lacked any interfacing stamina whatsoever.

“Sorry,” said Whirl, when he could speak again. Magnus had seated him on the floor between his knees. He slumped back against Magnus’ chest.

“It’s all right. What happened?”

“Eh,” said Whirl. “Rung calls it an ‘intimacy debt’. People avoided touching me for a long time-in _nice_ ways, getting punched doesn't count- so I get over-stimulated quick. Especially when there’s… you know, an ‘emotional component’.”

Magnus rested his chin forward on Whirl’s shoulder and thought about his drive to affirm Whirl’s presence with total immersion in the other bot’s body. Magnus _needed_ that over-stimulation to convince himself that he was indeed not alone. Two sides of a coin, damaged by inattention and the isolation of war.

“How long is your refractory period?”

“Varies a lot.” He reached out both hands to grip Magnus' thighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. Should’ve warned you.”

“Yes, but no harm’s been done.” Magnus slid both arms around him and nuzzled into the side of his neck. “That was very enjoyable.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t get off.”

“No, but… it takes me some time to become sufficiently aroused. Watching my partner helps.”

Whirl thunked his head back against Magnus’ chest. “Ohhhh great. _I_ go off like a firecracker and _you_ burn like a signal flare.” He twisted around, cocked his head, and gave a shrug. “Guess we can practice til we find a balance, right?”

Magnus nodded. “I would enjoy that. Shall we have supper and then discuss it further?”

They collected their (somewhat tepid) take-out and Magnus led Whirl onto the broad balcony attached to the apartment. They leaned together on the railing, sixty stories above the city.

Whirl gazed out, finding his bearings. His stabilizers rose. Light from the city below limned his edges in rose and gold and Magnus was taken aback by Whirl's unexpected beauty.

Years ago, he had come to see Whirl's form as something neutral- the spare frame with it's sections of exposed endoskeleton, the _empurata_ , the integrated weapons that did not retract at all, ever- it all toed the line of grotesque but taken together it was simply _Whirl_. Magnus had ignored it after a while.

How had he ever ignored it? He stared, unabashed, while Whirl watched the sky.

“Hey, can I ask you a personal question?” Whirl turned.

“You may ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Fair enough.” Whirl cocked his head. “Do you have someone? _Amica_ ? _Conjunx_?”

Magnus shook his head. “No.” He'd thought about it in depth, debated with himself the costs and benefits of such a designation for various relationships, but in the end, his foremost dedication was to see justice upheld across the galaxy. Thinking about it now, studying Whirl's strong lines against the rapidly blackening sky, it still felt right. “Why did _you_ do it?” he asked. “Become _amica_ to Cyclonus and Tailgate?”

Whirl looked away. “They're good at getting themselves into trouble and just when you think Horn-head is actually enough of a badaft to get them out, he goes and he- gets tunnel vision and misses like sixty potential threats, or doesn't get angry enough to finish the job, thinks too much, speaks _way_ too little. And Tailgate's not much better, I mean, he’s better now but he's still a pretty terrible judge of character and gullible as all hell.” He shrugged. “They need _me_ around to make _them_ look sane.”

Magnus frowned. “That's not a flattering depiction of people you care about.”

Whirl picked at his dinner. “Maybe not but I like them the way they are. I like them because of who they are.” He glanced at Magnus. “Not _despite_ who they are. They’re messed up too, and that’s fine. We deal with it.”

Magnus laid a hand on the small of Whirl's back. “I don’t think there’s one of us alive that isn’t a little ‘messed up’.”

Through that tough, flexible plating, Magnus felt the faintest thrill of Whirl's wonderful subsonic purr start up again and Magnus smiled. Whirl was a shadow now, washed with starlight above and streetlight below, but he was familiar and warm, and he turned to nestle himself against Magnus’ side. They were both quiet for a long time.

“Whirl?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I agreed to flirt with you.”

Whirl laughed. He slung an arm around Magnus’ waist and tugged him close. “Me too.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing my best to get back into a regular writing schedule. :)
> 
> Fluff & conversations. Also, Whirl-brand diplomacy.

They stayed on the balcony for a long time. Somehow they ended up talking about history- not recent history, not anything either of them had been alive for, but the parts of Cybertronian history that were so long distant they were nearly mythical. It was all conjecture and assumption, and they didn’t debate, only pondered together. Neither of them were historians; it was a sort of conversation that Magnus normally found uncomfortable, due to a lack of specific knowledge. Yet here he was comfortable and he enjoyed it completely.

The whole time they remained in physical contact, even if it was just a shoulder or a hip resting against the other. Whirl leaned into him, opposing Magnus’ weight with the angle of his long frame. There was something deeply comforting in that give and take, push and lean, Magnus discovered.

“I think it would be irresponsible for us to go the entire night without recharge,” Magnus finally ventured when they had been silently leaning on each other for almost twenty minutes.

Whirl stretched but there was no energy in the gesture. “Okay. I concede to your wisdom.” He tugged Magnus by the waist and they finally went inside.

Magnus briefly considered removing his armour but it seemed like an awful lot of work at the moment. He’d become used to recharging without it in recent years, though for most of his life as Ultra Magnus he had lived in the armour, removing it only rarely, when he was guaranteed privacy.

Whirl didn’t comment. They negotiated real estate on the slab through trial and error, finding a pleasing configuration for their kibble after a few minutes trying. Whirl wriggled himself half into Magnus arms and, to his surprise, relaxed and fell asleep almost immediately. 

Only two hours later, the comm unit gave a low buzz and pulled Magnus out of recharge. He disentangled himself from Whirl enough to reach it.

“This is Ultra Magnus.”

Fortress Maximus peered at him for the briefest moment. “Ah, I apologize for waking you, Magnus. I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t urgent.”

“Understandable. What’s the problem?”

“One of the Galactic Council peacekeepers got spooked and shot a civilian. A Decepticon civilian. With an Autobot-sourced weapon. Xaaron authorized your immediate transfer to Luna 1 for diplomatic purposes.”

Magnus frowned and ran one large hand over his helm. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorro- er. Later today. First transport out.”

“Good thing I left the armour on.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Fortress Maximus. Ultra Magnus out.”

He eased himself back into Whirl’s embrace and shuttered his optics for another few quiet moments. Whirl shifted, engine purring to life softly.

“How long’s the assignment?” Whirl mumbled into Magnus’ neck cables.

Magnus turned, wrapped an arm around his back and tugged him closer. “Indeterminate, but impermanent.”

“What time do you leave?”

“Three hours.”

“You wanna get some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

Fortress Maximus greeted Magnus at the single shuttleport. Luna 1 was technically an outpost, not a stellar traffic hub, and it functioned with nothing more than a dedicated skeleton crew.

“Thank you for coming. I owe you one.”

Magnus shook hands with him. “It’s no trouble. How have your interactions with the Council fared to this point?”

“Hot and cold. I’m just another pesky Cybertronian to them for the most part. After they sniffed out my history, they had a few more questions but… you did choose me. That meant a lot to them.”

“Hmm. I’m glad that has served you. My final interaction with them was not terribly agreeable.”

“It served.” He beckoned to Magnus. “I’ll show you to your suite and then we can get up to speed on the situation.”

It was a long day.

The following day was also long, as was the next, and the next, and soon Magnus had racked up two solid weeks of intense problem solving. 

But there had been no further incidents between the Cybertronians and Galactic Council, Fort Max was looking less harried, and they had a solid lead on the source of the weapons used during the incident.

There was a new message waiting for download on Magnus’ personal comm suite when he returned to his quarters later that evening. It was from Whirl and it had an attachment. Magnus opened the message.

_ Something for u. Dont sho to anyone else. _

Magnus hesitated. The attachment was a video. Judging by the size of the file, it was at least an hour in length. They had spoken twice since Magnus arrived on Luna 1: short, light conversations, checking in, contact for the sake of contact. Whirl hadn’t mentioned anything he had viewed which he thought Magnus might want to see.

Magnus first thought was that the video could, in some way, be related to his current assignment. Maybe it was something that Whirl had come across in his own work.

That thought was quickly pushed aside. If Whirl found something important, Magnus had faith that he would pass it through proper channels. And this was specifically _for_ _him._ And, upon examination of the file properties, it had been made the night before, on Cybertron, by Whirl.

What would Whirl record for him? Magnus blushed. Was it something erotic? That was something that lovers did for each other sometimes, when they were far apart. Was that something that Whirl would do? Part of him thought yes, because Whirl enjoyed  _ flustering  _ people. Part of him wasn’t so sure though; Whirl wasn’t as interested in sex as he lead the universe to believe.

Magnus twitched an optic toward the door to make sure he had locked it. He tarried a moment longer, considering whether  _ he  _ was the sort of person who would enjoy receiving such content from Whirl.

He decided to let the video persuade him one way or the other, and opened it.

It wasn’t porn. It was, however, something deeply intimate.

He was looking at Whirl’s workbench, at the steady blunt tips of Whirl’s claws, and a tiny, half-finished machine held impossibly gently between them.

“So, you said you were interested in the process,” came Whirl’s voice. “Thought I’d try filming some of this- uh, try filming this and if it doesn’t completely suck, maybe let you watch it. Okay? Well. Never really tried  _ explaining  _ this before, you know? I just do it. Maybe I’ll- you know what, if you want me to explain it, tell me and I will but it feels weird right now. So I’ll just… shut up. Okay. Here we go…”

Whirl didn’t shut up at first. He was obviously self-conscious, or at least, his words were. His claws moved and manipulated with mesmerizing confidence. He talked to Magnus, explaining snatches of his process, talked to the object he held, talked to his tools, and inserted observations and anecdotes at random.

He was apparently wearing the camera on his head- “borrowed it from Tailgate, who knows what he uses it for, I think he needs a play-date with Rewind”- and at one point he twisted and scratched at his antenna, knocking the camera askew. 

He dropped tools. He got distracted by two Seekers chasing each other in the sky outside. He got up and paced when he couldn’t get the project to look quite right. He didn’t once get angry, or upset, or even swear.

That was the first fifteen minutes. Whirl sat back down at the bench, started tinkering again, and his voice faded into that deep, almost inaudibly low purr.

Through it all, the delicate little machine took shape. Whirl said “oops” now and then but Magnus couldn't tell what he thought his mistakes were because he made few obvious corrections to the chronometer. It came together with an inexorable surety. The piece emerged from a calm and skill that existed somewhere unconscious within Whirl; a deep, hidden part of him able to manifest in this physical form outside the rest of Whirl’s character.

The last ten minutes of the video were silent, save for the purr. Whirl’s head was still, only his claws and the tiny devices housed within their tips moved at all.

Whirl said, “There. Done.” The video stopped, screen abruptly black, and Magnus roused himself out of a pleasant lethargy. He saved the video to his onboard memory, under several layers of encryption.

_ Thank you, _ he sent as a reply.  _ I enjoyed this very much. _

* * *

The next day, Magnus was due to meet with the commander of the Galactic Council peacekeeping force. Instead, he entered the briefing room to find one of the commanders’ lieutenants, a scarred and perpetually sour individual who had barely spoken during previous meetings.

The lieutenant drew their weapon.

Magnus halted, confused.

“I’m sorry about this,” said the lieutenant.

Magnus didn't move. “What are you sorry about?”

The lieutenant shot him. 

It was a light energy weapon on its lowest setting and the beam hit Magnus in the thickest part of his thoracic armour. Magnus looked down at the black mark on his plating. It wasn’t even smoking.

“Why?” he said.

The lieutenant shot him again, in the thigh, with similar effect.

Magnus cocked his head. “Explain your actions.”

“I’ve shot you twice. That violates the terms of our treaty. Feel free to retaliate. You were provoked.”

Magnus folded his arms over his chest and frowned down at the lieutenant. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You’re my hostage until Fortress Maximus ransoms you back. Come quietly or I’ll have to shoot you again.”

Magnus opened his handheld comm.

“Ah, ah, no calls! Stop that! What are you doing?” The lieutenant attempted to slap the comm out of his hand and failed when Magnus raised it out of their reach.

“I’m calling your superior.”

The lieutenant slumped. “My  _ superior _ is the one who put me up to this. If they ask, I’ll deny saying this, but here’s the truth: I think this plan is  _ ridiculous. _ But I also don’t want to get written up for disobeying orders and consequently lose my pension or go to prison, so come with me and I swear it’ll be less paperwork for both of us.”

Magnus ended the comm call before it connected but held his ground. “I don’t mind paperwork, lieutenant.”

The alien rolled their eyes. “Don’t I know. That’s why I bargained you wouldn’t kill me outright if I shot you: you have a reputation for thoroughness in an investigation.” They reached into the satchel at their side and proffered a rag to Magnus. “Apologies for your finish.”

Magnus accepted the rag. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Certain… persons... are hoping that the Cybertronian empire-”

“We’re not an empire.”

“-will retaliate for this transgression.”

Magnus stopped cleaning and stared at the lieutenant.

“Retaliate?”

“Yes.”

“Your superiors are attempting to instigate aggression between the Galactic Council and Cybertron?”

“YI can’t confirm that.”

Magnus handed the rag back.

“Lieutenant,  imparting that information to me may be construed as treason to your superiors.”

The alien shrugged. “Pretend you worked it all out for yourself?”

Magnus considered. “Although I understand your reasons for cooperating in this scheme, you are still aiding an attempt to incite a galactic incident. I cannot pretend to be oblivious to this fact.”

The lieutenant tensed and for a moment Magnus thought they were preparing to shoot him again, with the weapon on a more dangerous setting. But then the alien sighed and tucked the gun back into its holster.

Magnus relaxed somewhat. “Put me in contact with your superior and allow me to call Emirate Xaaron so that we can find a diplomatic solution to this situation.”

The lieutenant hesitated.

“You do not possess the authority to begin negotiating a solution. Nor should the consequences of such a scheme fall on someone who enacted it with obvious reluctance. Contact your superior.”

“They’ll find me guilty of treason.”

“They may not. At the moment, you’re merely guilty of attempted assault.”

The lieutenant said nothing.

“Lieutenant. This will only grow worse- for both of us- if we don’t resolve it with haste.”

Before they could reply, Magnus’ handheld comm chimed. The alien made another fruitless grab at it. 

“Don’t answer that!”

The comm chimed again. 

“It isn’t Fortress Maximus. It is a personal call.”

“Well, ignore it.”

The comm chimed.

“That would mislead the person calling into believing that I had something better to do than speak with them. I do not like being dishonest in my personal relationships.” Magnus pointed his most serious expression down at the lieutenant. “Do I have something better to do than answer this call? Such as contact Emirate Xaaron?”

The lieutenant continued to balk. The comm chimed once more.

Magnus clicked the channel open. “Hello, Whirl.”

“You busy?”

“Not immediately. Although you are on open broadcast and there is a member of the Galactic Council eavesdropping on this conversation.”

The lieutenant glowered up at him.

“Oh,  _ is  _ there?” said Whirl with unmitigated glee. “Which world are they from? What species? Are they animals, excrement,social class, religion, or sex?”

“ _ What. _ ”

“How do they  _ swear _ ? How do they  _ give offense _ ? Important details! Every species is different. Gotta know the most effective way to tell them to insert something filthy and improbable into their progenitor’s most private orifice.”

“Do you realize your friend is on a mission of  _ diplomacy _ ?” snapped the lieutenant in the direction of Magnus’ comm.

“If it was going well, squishy eavesdropper,” Whirl snapped back, “he wouldn’t have answered. What fragged up?”

“The full scope of that remains to be discovered,” said Magnus.

“So… someone higher up the chain of command than the squishy in the room then. Hm. I’m guessing the higher ups aren’t around to hold accountable. That’s shoddy leadership.” Whirl clucked derisively.

“Indeed,” said Magnus.

“And knowing how the Galactic Council minds their business, they’re prepared to throw our squishy eavesdropper to the- whatever kind of nasty hungry critter lives on their planet and eats its prey alive. Boss’s gonna throw you to those things, eavesdropper.”

“Well, no,” said Magnus, “I would do my best to avoid implicating this individual in negotiations. They’ve managed to carry out their superiors orders without inflicting undue harm. I bear them no ill will.”

“Ugh. Lucky they’re dealing with you. I’d shoot ‘em and kick their body out the closest airlock.”

“Whirl…”

“Enough!” yelled the lieutenant. “Disconnect. I’ll call my superiors, you call Xaaron, they can sort this out.”

“Hey Magnus, did I just do diplomacy?”

“Hardly. I’ll call you back.”

* * *

Two days and one adroitly avoided intragalactic incident later, Magnus was filing paperwork in preparation for his return to Cybertron.

“There’s a call for you on the main comm system,” Max told him. He was trying not to smile and failing. Magnus thanked him and hastily picked up the main channel.

“You have my-” Magnus began.

“Have your what?” said Rodimus.

“Rodimus?”

“Last time I checked. Who did you think I was? Who has your what?”

“Whirl and my personal comm channel. Why was Fort Max smiling?”

“Probably because he’s lonely and a handsome mech called him out of the blue. Listen, I’m in the area and I heard a rumour about you getting  _ held hostage _ by the Galactic Council a couple days ago…?”

Magnus sat back in his chair. “It was brief, contrived, and ineffective. What brings you to the area?”

“Well.” Rodimus folded his arms and leaned toward the monitor. “We were chasing this group of criminals-”

“Criminals?” Magnus narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, criminals. It’s part of what I do- what  _ we  _ do- not our mission per se but we’re not going to let that sort of behaviour slide when someone flaunts their criminality right under our-”

“Rodimus of Nyon, are you  _ bounty hunting _ ?”

“NO! No. Magnus, come on. No. They were- just- look, it’s not important. They were criminals, end of story. I called you about something important.”

Magnus laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them.

“Don’t make that face. It’s actually important. Do you know what date it is, um… seventeen days from now?”

Magnus quoted the future date.

Rodimus put his face in his hands briefly. “It’s the day the  _ Lost Light  _ left Cybertron, Magnus. I want to have a memorial party.”

“With the whole crew? In seventeen days?”

“Yes!”

“Rodimus, I don’t think-”

“Stop right there. I checked on  _ everyone _ and they’re all able to reach Cybertron. I did actually think this through.”

“Well done.”

“So what about you?” Rodimus leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

“What about me?”

“Your mission is classified; I don’t know when it ends.”

“What did Max say?”

Rodimus glanced aside. “I… didn’t ask Max.”

“Rodimus, he was part of the crew. He deserves to be invited. Did you ask Red Alert?”

“Of course. That’s how I knew your mission was classified.”

“Technically, I could attend this memorial party,” Magnus said slowly.

“Technically. Realistically?”

“Realistically-” There was a soft tone from the console. “I, uh-”

Rodimus sat forward. “Got another call? Business or pleasure?”

“I’ll see you in seventeen days,” said Magnus.

* * *

“I’m putting ‘diplomat’ on my CV,” was the first thing Whirl said to Magnus when they met for dinner the day after he returned to Cybertron.

Magnus just groaned. 

“I heard they shot you.”

“Twice. How does everyone seem to know about this?”

“Galactic Council public broadcasting network. You can pick it up with a good deep space receiver. You’re all over the news.”

Whirl was seated beside him at the counter in a crowded diner, pressed comfortably against him out of necessity as much as desire. Their fields mingled where they touched; Whirl kept his pulled in tight under such populated conditions but he couldn’t seem to help letting it wend into Magnus’ energy as soon as they met.

“So, I heard the whole point of the stunt was to provoke Cybertron into full blown war with the Council.” Whirl leaned close to his audial. “Did you stop a  _ war _ and not tell anyone about it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Whirl’s engine gave a giddy little rev against him and Magnus glanced sideways, amused.

“Nothing happened, Whirl.”

“Because  _ you  _ didn’t let it.” Whirl paused, a straw halfway to his oral port. “You could’ve punched the guy into a parallel universe for shooting you and it would’ve looked justified.”

“I didn’t punch anyone. I was simply doing my job,” Magnus said and gave the smallest, quickest smile, just for Whirl. Whirl shouldered against him, field prickling through his with gleeful affection. “It’s nice to tell someone and have them appreciate my work.”

“Big M, I appreciate all your forms of bad-aft-ery.” He pinched Magnus’ thigh under the table. “So, you heard about Rodimus’s  _ Lost Light _ party?”

Magnus nodded. 

“I dunno if I'm into the whole anniversary thing but I do wanna see what colours he's painted himself for the occasion.”

“Reds, again,” said Magnus, abruptly feeling nostalgic. The emotion leached into his voice and Whirl's field sharpened, reaching, tingling against Magnus’ deeper circuits.

“When's the last time you two were face to face?”

Magnus shifted in his seat. The busy diner was too much all of a sudden. “It's been six years.” He paused. “I'd like to leave now.”

Whirl nodded, reached across the counter to bodily snag a server, and paid.

They walked in silence for a while. After a few minutes, Magnus touched Whirl's rotor shroud, fingers questing down his wrist. Whirl clasped Magnus’ fingers between his claws and they continued on, hand in hand.

Magnus had become used to his relationship with Rodimus being a long distance one. Rodimus returning, Rodimus physically present, changed his comfortably ordered world.

“Do you mind if I talk about Rodimus?” said Magnus finally. At some point, they had started to veer towards Whirl's home.

“Nope.”

Magnus paused to collect his thoughts. “We never talked. About us, I mean. At least, not sufficiently.”

“Not exhaustively, with branching multitudes of topics and sub-headings, you mean?”

“Yes.” Magnus glanced sideways and caught Whirl’s optic making an amused crescent. “We didn’t talk. When he decided to continue exploring instead of settling on Cybertron, I… we never got to say good-bye. We’ve  _ communicated _ since then, but not in depth and not about  _ us _ .”

They walked in silence. Magnus waited for Whirl to interject something but he remained silent.

“I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what I want.”

“What  _ don’t  _ you want?” said Whirl finally. They made their way onto Whirl’s home street.

“I don’t want to leave Cybertron permanently,” said Magnus immediately. “I don’t want to serve with someone for whom I have feelings because I have found that I enjoy expressing those feelings.”

Whirl dipped his head in an emphatic nod. “There you go.”


End file.
